apartments
by Constance Greene
Summary: Don't hit him with your purse next time: he'll steal your keys. — ZexionLarxene


Note.;;

This is the product of a write off ( random pairings matched with random lyrics for prompting ) with a friend. It was also timed, therefore it probably isn't as good as it should be.

Err. Getting tired of this note yet? Anyway, it's AU.

KH is not mine.

**Zexion x Larxene  
**"_Your words like smoke; they made me sick, but they kept me warm."_

"Got any smokes?" His breath rose up like the substance behind her in the cold night's air, unrefined and spoken in undertone.

"Don't smoke," She promptly replied, snapping her purse shut after rifling through it for her cab money. The blonde didn't even bother turning around to look at the bum; the sooner she shooed him away like a fly, the better. With the persistent _tip-tapping_ of her high-heeled shoes, not quite fuck me pumps but getting there ( she was still a trainee in the bar, after all ), she began to walk away from the pool of light by the back door and make her way down the alley and onto the sidewalk.

"You're a waitress, right? You've _got_ to have smokes," The creep insisted.

She rolled her eyes, a dangerous flash of light blue, and bit back her farewell to face the man. He probably had a banged up ugly face with maggots crawling out of the sockets where his eyes should have been and – Whoa. Too many horror movies, Larxene. Such a morbid imagination was bound to get her into trouble.

For a half-second she froze upon seeing the somewhat youthful façade beneath a tangled mass of dark-coloured hair. He was draped in something that looked like a black trench coat. Besides the overdramatic bangs, his face was partially plunged in shadows, making him look devilishly enigmatic. Nevertheless, she did not soften to his supposed age and innocence. She was a merciless bitch, and she'd show him she was no pushover nanny.

"If you're saying that I steal shit from my customers, you're out of your mind, kid." She wasn't a kleptomaniac like her colleague, Yuffie Whatsherface. Carelessly she placed a hand on her protruding hip, scrutinizing him. "What age are you anyway, asking for smokes? You look barely old enough to pass 18," She quipped.

He smirked. "Twenty-one."

"Nice try, wiseass. Now do me a favour and go to hell."

She turned around again, this time thoroughly determined to make it to the cabbie without another interruption or else she'd kick the boy in the face with her snappy shoes.

"Wait," He called out hoarsely, and she felt the brush of air where he was most likely trying for her hand. She swung her purse around and batted it away. The teen seemed to ignore her beating. "What's your name?" He asked in the same hollowed-out tone of voice.

"That's personal information, buddy. What the hell, you want to stalk me? Go ahead. Kids like you can't figure out that kind of hi-tech stuff." Oh, if only she knew that he had a state-of-the-art laptop in his bag that was disguised as a burlap sack.

He bent down suddenly, disregarding her. She let out a startled little gasp as her wallet appeared in his hand. Shit – it must have fell out while she was whapping his with her purse.

"Larxene, huh? Birth name Arlene," He read aloud in the same smart-assed voice.

"Give that back, you little creep!"

He raised his eyes up at her and stared at her levelly. She was shocked to see that they were deep blue like sapphires, fringed with violet. In a way they were electrifying. "Why the mix-up?"

"Very _funny_; I'm not laughing," She snarled, and snatched the wallet back – making sure to catch his skin beneath her long nails and leave a mark.

The boy, however, was not afflicted yet again by her punishment. "Clever," He muttered, avoiding her eyes (_so she couldn't see how alluring they were_), "but not really. Paranoid, I'd assume."

"Goodbye." Larxene said simply, and managed to slip away while he still seemed to be going on about the mystery. _I hope it busts your brain._

During the cab ride to her apartment, she couldn't help but alternate between silently fuming with her arms crossed and glaring at the small mirror before the driver ( who kept his eyes focused on the road ) and looking back over her shoulder, as if someone might be following her. Certainly he didn't have a car. When did they get their license in New York? Seventeen? Shit. Whatever. She didn't care about that little bastard. He couldn't do anything. Probably was kicked out of his house for a good reason by his parents. In a month, once winter came, he'd be dead.

She made it to her apartment unscathed. Larxene huddled at her door and fumbled with her purse, trying to find her keys. After a minute of nearly ripping her purse to shreds, she decided them lost.

"Aw, shit," She groaned aloud. She couldn't have possibly dropped them along with her wallet, too?

That was when she heard a tantalizing jingle behind her.

"Looking for these?"

_I don't want to turn around. _

The familiar teasing voice she had heard only an hour before penetrated her ears and made her want to scream in rage.

"You thief! Give them back to me, now."

"Don't think I will." He said slowly, and held them up to eye-level and studied them. "Shiny."

Oh, this was too much _fun_. "I'll call the cops. Hell; I can be _worse_ than the entire NYPD squad. Just give them back unless you don't want to see the light of the day again, kid."

"I much prefer the nighttime anyhow." Oh. Hell.

She snapped up to him with her high-heeled pumps and very stiffly balled her hands into fists. "You listen to me, you crazed idiot –"

Just then, her spiny heel caught in one of the cracks of the cobblestones and she began to fall towards him. Like lightning he caught her, and she felt firm hands on either side of her waist as he bent over her. "Careful," He warned temptingly, his breath like smoke ( and smelling like it too – apparently he had gotten his desired smokes ), "you might break your neck." And stroked said spot with the back of his fingers, tracing the white line of her flesh. She ignored the shiver it gave her and snapped her teeth at him. If his nose had only been an inch closer –

"Ooh, feisty, are we? Let's get you inside and put you to rest," He advised, and she felt heat and anger bubble up the track towards her head that nearly caused her brain to combust. Still holding her with a steely grip, he shoved the keys dexterously into the lock and cracked open the door with a foot.

With surprising strength, he carried her in his arms down the short hallways and towards the center of the living room.

"This is illegal, breaking in and entering without permission, you know," She growled, arms folded across her chest. She figured she had to give up, and that he was too much of a persistent little devil, after all. And her ankle hurt.

"I didn't hear you complain."

Larxene scowled sourly at this. Without warning, she sunk suddenly into the couch, and like a serpent, he slithered onto it above her. Either of his arms was by her shoulders, and she was pinned, trapped by the lower half of his body. "This is my warrant." And she felt his lips slide upon hers, a tongue flicking out dangerously and tasting the illegal substance that he had violated. He stifled her complaints by this action, and therefore she could do nothing else but comply and kiss him back.

- - - - - - -

Winter came. The intruder was long gone – after that escapade, she had righteously kicked him out of her home. She'd like to say that she didn't spend so much of a thought about the nameless stranger, but that would have been a lie.

Larxene, originally born Arlene, walked out the back exit of the bar and hugged her arms towards her tightly, shivering slightly in the frigid air. She glanced to the corner where she had found him a month before, almost expecting him to be there say the same thing:

"_Got any smokes?"_

She shuddered again, but this time not from the cold but from the unnerving memory. The words were almost like the glowing butt of a cigarette, singing her skin and at least giving her a jolt of back-to-reality warmth to go off of for the rest of the night.


End file.
